


Salvation

by afterandalasia



Category: The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996)
Genre: Community: disney_kink, F/M, Female-Centric, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, Revenge, Wordcount: 500-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-03
Updated: 2011-01-03
Packaged: 2017-12-15 04:24:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/845275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterandalasia/pseuds/afterandalasia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here, Esmeralda prays to feel clean again.</p><p>Here, she asks for forgiveness for what she is about to do.</p><p>Here, she asks for salvation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Salvation

Here, before the statue of the Virgin Mary, she tries to feel clean again. With her hood drawn low to cover her face and her head bowed, she looks like any other lost pilgrim looking for salvation,

She can still remember his touch. Thin, cold fingers across her belly and against her thighs. His weight against her back as he pins her to the wall. The other hand, wrapped around her wrists to stop her from fighting. Because she would have fought, if she could have done; kicked and scratched and bitten, to keep him from her. But he had caught her that time, pinned her and held her still.

Here, she prays, her hands clasped together as she kneels. Here, she asks for salvation.

She can remember the way that he took a handful of her hair and inhaled its scent, the way that he had called her a whore, a filthy slut, worse than just any gypsy, and she had snarled at him because her mouth had not been covered but in response he had just twisted her wrists further until she had cried out, and it had been then that he had reached round and slid his hand beneath her skirt, and though she called down all of the wrath of God upon him he had not relented, he had said that it was the work of God that he needed to have this evil purged from him and that only she was fit for it, only she was fit for this evil.

Here, she tries not to cry. Fragments of tears are in her eyelashes, but she will not reach up to brush them away because that would be to admit that they are there. Instead she reaches for the anger within herself, to burn away the self-pity that is threatening to take hold.

She remembers when he took her, and she cried out in pain when he forced himself within her, his skin cold and his hips sharp as he fucked her from behind, hard and fierce, whispering _things_ in French and in Latin that she could not understand, and though she struggled he would just pin her tighter to the wall, and she had to close her eyes against the pain and the cold, rough stone. And she remembers that cold insistence of his fingers, knowing where to search -- oh, how could a churchman have known? -- and how she cried as she came and he hissed his triumph that he had known all along she was such a filthy creature as this.

Here, she reaches beneath her cloak for the dagger that Clopin had given to her. She did not need to explain to him what it was for, not after he was the one to find her with blood on her thighs and grit in her cheek and tears of disgust in her eyes.

She remembers the promise that she made to herself, that _he would pay_.

Her hand tightens on the hilt of the dagger. For this revenge, she hopes, she will be forgiven. Soon.


End file.
